


they stuck me together with glue (and then i knew what to do).

by flustraaa



Series: how long can i be a wall, keep the wind off? [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 41st Division (Avatar), Fire Nation (Avatar), Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Zuko (Avatar), The Fire Nation Loves Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) is Bad at Feelings, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko Needs a Nap, Zuko is a good fire lord, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), also let zuko say fuck it’s what he deserves, and therapy probably, at all, he is small and doing his best, hes tryin his best guys, no beta we die like jet, protecc him, zukka if you squint, zuko is not scary, zuko is tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: the fire lord— a position that harboured the implication of death and destruction freshly in the minds of the world. the title that harboured pain and suffering— and the burning of a child. the staff always feared him. but now, they’re wondering if this kid is truly as scary as he is powerful. spoiler: he’s not so scary after all.(or,zuko is a good leader and could definitely get mad hoes if he wanted to)
Relationships: Fire Nation Citizen(s) & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) & Original Character(s)
Series: how long can i be a wall, keep the wind off? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131794
Comments: 47
Kudos: 762





	they stuck me together with glue (and then i knew what to do).

**Author's Note:**

> [small frog with mouth wide open] “a”

**i.**

* * *

Zuko is— well, quite honestly teetering into exhaustion as he scans through the scrolls for reparations and improvements in edification his scribe had set on his desk from the colonies.

He’s not exactly sure when one of his employees came in, though, she must have been one of the newer ones. At least, that’s what Zuko tells himself to feel better about not being quite able place her in his head.

Perhaps, he realises, after she’s alerted him to her presence by setting a teacup and pot of Jasmine on the mahogany desk beneath his hands, he’s never met her before.

It’s clear she can feel his eyes on him— Zuko watches her physically tense up and a heavy weight settles in his stomach at the sight.

He’s going to fix this... he knows how to execute small talk, right?

He (honestly, borderline) desperately allows his eyes to comb over her to try and find a way to approach this, and it’s not long before he catches sight of the small clip with a golden flame on it— the symbol of the palace staff.

He opens his mouth to alert her that her clip is about to fall when she starts speaking first, and Zuko’s mouth closes immediately to hear her out, “I’m sorry— I should’ve knocked.”

She’s not looking up anymore, and Zuko’s cheeks are flushing head bobbing side to side in negation at the misunderstanding.

_Words, Zuko_ , he thinks desperately. _Use your words._

“Uh...” he mumbles, and he’s sure her own anxieties would be reflected back at her— had she, y’know, been looking at him in literally any capacity, “your uh— your pin is slipping.”

Her eyes snap up to him, and if Zuko didn’t know any better he’d say she was shaking.

But Zuko did know better, enough to know that the young girl— Gods, she must’ve been around his own age— was shaken and on the brink of a panic attack.

Oh _fuck_ , a very clear alarm bell goes off in Zuko’s head and he rises to his feet, a little voice whispering in his head: _fuck, fuck, shit, fuck._

It appears however, that one of his swears has escaped his mouth because within seconds the girl is crying and Zuko’s brain short-circuits because the fuck is he supposed to do with someone else’s emotions? He can’t even figure out his own.

“Oh Agni, oh _fuck_ — please don’t cry, oh _shit_ ,” he trips over the edge of his table enough that the guards pry the door open to make sure there isn’t a viable threat in this eighteen-year- old-girl who’s crying through the door.

They barely contain their snickers at the sight of a very tear-terrified Fire Lord scrambling to kneel in front of the girls who has since sunken to her knees in a bow.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, “I’m so sorry, it will never happen again, I swear!”

“Hey, don’t uh— don’t cry...” he reaches out, hesitating before dropping his hand halfway to hers, “can you look at me?”

She does as she told, eyes snapping to his where she’s greeted with what Zuko hopes is a kind smile. 

It’s clear she takes it as a sign of malice, because an onslaught of tears immediately begins pouring down her cheeks at the sight of his.

So, Zuko does what Zuko does best— he makes a dry, self-deprecating joke.

“I didn’t think I was that bad of a sight in the morning.” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck, head tilting down as a quiet chuckle leaves his lips. “I- uh... I’m not really good at... how can I help.?”

When he quickly reaches for the cup on his desk, she half expects him to throw it on her like a water mister on a misbehaving house fossacat— but instead, he holds it out to her.

“Here,” he mumbles, voice painfully soft, “just um, catch your breath and then we can talk about what just happened.”

She looks wearily between him and the cup, and catching her suspicion— something dreadful happens. She watches the Fire Lord deflate in embarrassment, cheeks twinging pink as he looks between the cup and the girl he doesn’t know.

“Do you want me to— I can take a sip of it’d make you feel better about drinking it?” It’s scary, almost, how well he can understand what she’s thinking. 

She wants to tell him she trusts him, but before she can the former prince takes a quiet, but long, sip of the tea. Not long after, his hand extends the remainder of the cup to her.

And he’s right. The drink does make her feel better, and after a bit of time has passed she’s a lot less weepy. She finds that she’s far more confident that she’s not going to get a scar like the one that mars the face before her.

“I’m sorry,” she speaks again, because it’s the only thing she can begin to think of doing, “I- I promise I’ll knock and I will be pristine from now on.”

“No, that’s okay,” the girl clearly cannot begin to process the way Zuko is calmly brushing her mistakes off, “don’t worry about it. I mean— I’m pretty sure my crown is crooked right now.” 

She wonders distantly if this is meant to be a metaphor— his crown looks just as balanced as it’s been since he’s taken the throne. Is he trying to say that kindness is wrong? Is she just reading into it too much?

“I...” she hesitates, eyebrows coming together as her eyes well up with tears, “is this... a joke, sir?”

She watches the way her Lord’s eyebrows— well, eyebrow furrows, completely lost. “I- no... I- uh... Do you want me to fix it? The- uh, the pin? Or- maybe that’s inappropriate— I could call Akasuki. One moment—“

But then something happens, the girl cuts through the silence with four quiet words that break Zuko’s heart in more ways than one.

“You know our names?” By the time Zuko has turned to look at her, the cup is on the ground and her hands are slapped over her mouth like she can’t believe what she’s said.

She’s already starting to bow again, when Zuko sits back down beside her, “yeah— well, mostly. I’ve been trying to learn everyone’s names since my coronation. I’m sorry to say I haven’t had the chance to get to know everyone yet.”

“Kiyi,” she states quietly, “I’m Kiyi.”

At that, a reserved grin finds its way onto the young rulers lips, as he echos her name back, before adding, “Kiyi. That’s pretty— I have a half-sister named Kiyi.”

Now, it seems, it’s Zuko’s turn to look startled, “Ha. I- I didn’t mean to— _whoops_.”

And just like at, a quiet laugh claws it’s way from Kiyi’s throat as she looks at the teenager before her— realising for the first time that this Lord is truly much more like her than she was willing to admit. 

And then they’re both laughing quietly.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Kiyi.” he quells her, rising to his feet before extending a hand, “I guess I sometimes forget that not everyone— I guess I’m trying to say that I’m not my father. I never wish to be him, and I hope to never be him. You’re all safe here now, no matter what.”

And in that moment, Kiyi can only gawk at the crowned boy who is extending his incredibly regal hand to her (seriously, his crown supposedly crooked crown is probably more than three months of her parent’s rent).

But it only takes a brief look beyond to know that he’s not his father— he still cuts his hair just prior to the point at which he begins to look like his predecessor and while absolutely royal— he always looks a bit more tired than a teenager should.

It’s then that she realises he spends his nights working through compromises, rather than dreaming of taking over the world.

His hand is still extended to her when she snaps out of it, and she takes it, rising to her feet. 

He hesitates, reaching out a hand and stopping just before he’s touching her, “may I—“

What he’s asking, she’s not completely sure, but something deep in her knows he isn’t plotting to slit her throat, and in response, she nods.

In a swift motion, he’s holding the embellished pin between them, a shy smile on his lips. Kiyi has half a brain to fix it, but with shaky fingers she struggles.

“Would you like help?” He queries, eyes more gentle than his father’s or sister’s could ever be.

“Yes, please.”

And without a seconds hesitation, her hair is pinned back and they’re looking at each other again. 

“I used to do my sisters hair— and Mai’s on occasion.” he mumbles abashedly, in lieu of an answer, “thank you for the tea, and please do not hesitate to speak to me if you are ever concerned about the well being of you, or any other staff members. I am not my father, and I am not the person Azula was before.” 

And somehow, Kiyi believes him. “I will, My Lord.” 

**ii.**

* * *

The day starts when a plate shatters in the kitchen, just as the Fire Lord is walking by— and holy fuck. 

Aiko shares a look with Aiya, and within seconds they’re scrambling to pick up the shattered cups from the floor. The very cups that had contained the Fire Lord’s afternoon tea, and lunch on it. 

“We’re going to die,” Aiya hisses between her teeth, eyes suspiciously wet as she shoves the remains into a pan, “and if we don’t, mom will kill us for getting matching burn scars.” 

“Kiyi said—“ Aiko starts, but the words die on his tongue when the Motherfucking Fire Lord walks into the kitchens, eyebrows furrowed together. 

Kiyi must’ve lied, he was clearly putting a great deal of thought into their punishment. Aiya is right: 

They are going to _die_. 

“Aiko, Aiya.” He addresses them, and Aiko is pretty sure the blood freezes in his veins. It hardly takes a glance at his baby sister to know that she’s feeling the exact same way. “Is everything alright?” 

He almost sounds like he cares— but, if Azula always lies— then her brother can’t be much different. The hesitant look on his face gives away his barely suppressed hatred, easily. 

Zuko is reaching a hand out in front of Aiya, and before Aiko can stop himself— he’s lifted the pieces of glass from the floor, focused on the granules of earth they contain. 

He watches as one swipes a clean (and alarmingly large) laceration into the Fire Lord’s scar. The heat from the boiled water still clinging to it like a baby koloasloth to its mother. 

Zuko, for his part, stops moving— going so dreadfully still that Aiko considers that fact that he probably only has moments to live. The word _treason_ rattles around in his head, clinging to his skull like the fire lilies to the morning sunlight. 

A beat passes, soon trickling into five before Aiko and Aiya raise their heads from their desperate bows to find Zuko staring at the crimson liquid on his fingertips— when had he wiped his face?

He’s stock still, just staring blankly— and something that looks suspiciously like tears like his eyes. 

“My... My Lord?” Aiko whispers after a minute, and when nothing happens he reaches out— as if to try and shake the teenager across from him. 

He doesn’t get the chance to rethinks his actions— instead, the seemingly unflappable Fire Lord— the man who brought Azula to her knees and helped end the war, flinches back impossibly hard. 

And Aiko supposed that, while yes, Zuko had snapped out of his stupor— he was ten times worse off. 

No longer does his chest move with thecontrolled and steady breaths of a master bender, but instead with shaky whispers and harsh pants. 

He’s pressed himself against the smooth marble behind him, knees pulled to his chest and head dipped against the bend. His hands rest flatly on the cool stone beneath, eyes squeezed shut as the fire on the walls move with his erratic breaths. 

“I.. loyal son,” Aiko swears he catches it, but before he can think of what to do about the shaking, motherfucking Fire Lord. The one who has his back pressed against the wall all while he struggles to take in a full breath. 

“Zuko?” Aiko murmurs, hoping the use of a less regal title will calm him. It does nothing for his cause— and, quite honestly, seems to set the young ruler more on edge. 

“Please don’t.” The Fire Lord croaks, looking incredibly small. “Please.” 

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe walks in— taking one glance before kneeling to the side of him. 

“Kiyi!” She calls over her shoulder, eyes scared but jaw set right in the way she is before she blows up the ground she stands on to make something right, “can you go get my water pouch? Sokka has it!” 

The young girl takes off down the corridor, and the pair siblings watch helplessly as Katara gentle tilts Zuko’s chin up to look at her. 

“Zuko?” The chattering of their ruler’s teeth is clearly not answer enough for her. “Hey, are you with me?” 

There’s a long pause— and then, a slight bob of his head, and Katara visibly relaxes, “good, good. He’s not here, you know that right?” 

There’s a hesitation, one that clearly doesn’t sit with the Water Bending Master— with the Fire Lord’s friend. “Zuko? Do I need to get Sokka?” 

Aiko takes a moment to turn the thought over in his mind— why in Agni’s name would the Fire Lord need a Water Tribe ambassador?

“No,” he huffs, burying his face in his hands before yanking his fingers through his hair, “I’m fine. I’m— I just need a second.” 

“He’s not here. He’ll never hurt you again,” Katara murmurs, voice soothing as she takes his hand, “he’ll have to go through all of us— and even if he can get through Aang he doesn’t stand a chance against Toph.” 

An indescribable noise claws its way from the back of Zuko’s throat, and Aiko watches carefully as Katara trails a soft thumb over the centre of his shaking palm.

“I’m going to clean you up,” she tells him, taking the pouch of water from Kiyi’s hand, “and then we’re going to count together until you can breathe, okay?” 

There’s a jerk of his head again, and the blue glows on her fingertips as she trails the healing liquid over Zuko’s still bloody cheek. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and don’t open until his head is against her chest. 

It’s only then that Aiko and Aiya realise that the man in front of them— the boy, who they’d thought was going to scar them to match the one he brandished as a defence— was just that. A young man thrown into a Gods awful position by the Spirits. 

“I’m sorry,” Aiko croaks suddenly, throat dry and it’s like the spell is broken. The shaky breaths don’t stop, but aureate eyes snap open and he wipes at his tears sloppily. “I didn’t mean to—“

The crimson on his fingertips mingles with brine ridden water, smearing the mixture across soft ivory skin— and he can’t really meet their eyes. 

“It’s okay, Aiko.” He pauses, taking in a deep breath. It hitches in his throat. “I understand that the transition my fa— from Ozai’s reign hasn’t been easy for most of you. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Zuko.” Katara scolds him, but it’s more motherly than anything, “it’s not always your fault. When something happens, it’s not always your fault.” 

His lips purse into a thin line, “have you been talking to Doctor Xia? You’re starting to sound like her.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “the idiot has. He’s worried about you.” 

Aiko is lost, but at the same time the stars align in an inexplicable way. The idiot must be Ambassador Sokka. 

“With all due respect—“ Aiko’s voice is barely above a whisper, “with all due respect, i was the one who cut you, your majesty. I— when Kiyi told us about— well, we thought it was logical fallacy. That it’d been like Lake Laogai all over again.” 

From where Kiyi holds a cup of tea out to Zuko, her free hand reaches up to brush the pin that holds her deep raven coloured chignon. 

“Oh.” He says simply, as if Aiko didn’t just assault the Motherfucking Fire Lord. “I would never do that— and I would never— I never want to be my father.” 

“I injured you— thats treasonous.”

“You wounded me— you thought I was a threat. Aiko, I know the difference.” He rises to his legs, still wobbly with distress, “you would’ve kept attacking me while I was vulnerable, if you’d meant harm. It’s not treason— it’s confusion. I know what it’s like to be confused.” 

Zuko pauses, sniffling as he reaches for a cloth to wipe his cheeks. “I was in your position not to long ago— I used to hunt the avatar— I used to hunt one of the best friends I’ve made, because I was scared. I thought I could return my honour— the type that was built on fallacies and pain.” 

Cerulean eyes glint proudly beside him, and down the hall— a similar pair beam even brighter than the deepest star in the sky. 

“I broke a plate—“

“No.” Aiya objects, bowing her head. “I broke the plate.” 

“It’s okay. Porcelain is replaceable, your lives are not.” He pushes a hand through his hair, pulling the crown and pin out so shaggy raven locks fall around his eyes. “Just don’t try to kill me in my sleep, and we’re alright. You’re welcome here, no matter your mistakes.” 

“Lord—“ 

“Aiko, Aiya,” he sighs, turning back around with Katara and Kiyi a few paces ahead, “just call me, Zuko. We’re like... two years apart anyways.” 

“You know our names,” Aiya mumbles, and despite it all, ivory flushed deeply. 

“You took the time to learn my name.” Zuko soothes, “I may forget sometimes, but I will do my best to learn all of yours.” 

And like that, he’s disappeared down the hall— and suddenly they can’t help but wonder if this moment truly happened. 

But as all good things come to an end, Ambassador Sokka does poke his head through the door and threaten Aiko with a stern talking to and sea-prune sour if he ever thinks about bending at Zuko again. 

Aiko thinks he’s being soft. Aiya thinks the threat is more dangerous than the warrior lets on. 

(If either of them manage to catch sight of Zuko lying on the grass in the garden, soaking up the sun like a cat— they never saying anything— well, to him at least).

**iii.**

* * *

“I’m telling you!” Aiko insists, soft brown eyes focused on his best friend as she carefully wrings the soap in and out of the Fire Lord’s duvet. “He cares about us! He literally knows my name— he knew Aiya’s name and Kiyi’s too!” 

“He’s a Fire Lord,” Daisuke mumbles, eyes focused on the deep red in the tub. “He’s nothing more than his bloodline. He’ll burn anyone who gets too close.” 

“That’s the thing! I cut him—“ her motions stop, eyes wide as she stares at her friend in complete shock. 

“You—“ her wrists rest on the edge of the basin, eyes focusing on a spot in the distance. “You lacerated the Fire Lord? Like... the one that can breathe fire and redirect lighting?” 

“Yes!” Aiko beams, grin dropping as Daisuke’s expression grows grim and grave. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He’s not the man that Ozai was— he’s not his sister either. He apologised to me.” 

“Did you take a trip to Lake Laogai?” She hisses, voice snappish as she shoves the rest of the wet laundry in a hamper to hang out in the garden. “Been brainwashed like those soldiers?” 

“No!” He snaps, running a hand over his face. His voice softens, eyes following in suit. “Just trust me. He’s not who we thought he was.” 

“First Kiyi, and now you too,” venom drips from her lips, and the words leave a bitter taste in her mouth as she hoists the basket onto her hip. “I’ll just have to see the miraculous majesty for myself. Maybe I’ll come back with a scar that’ll change your mind, hm?” 

She leaves him behind, mumbling to herself and she goes about her tasks— loading the basked in the garden with clean linens and duvets for the Fire Lord’s room.

Daisuke loathes making the best that’s practically two of her in with and three in length. It’s the worst part of her month. 

But she does it, because she gets paid to— and also Azula nearly throttled her when she’d been sick and had missed the sheet changing day. 

A sigh frees itself from her chest, and she raises the silly wicker basket onto her hip— glancing down at the list of chores left to do before she could retire to the servants quarters for the night. 

But as she collides with another body, sending them both sprawling onto the hard tile below their feet. Warm hands catch her upper arms before they can snap at the elbow, and lead her to fall completely on the body below. 

She sees a flash of scarred skin, and the glint of a golden crown before she hears his voice— before she can begin to process that she’s fallen chest to chest on top of the crowned Fire Lord. 

Or, as Aiko once said, shes chest to chest with the _Motherfucking Fire Lord._

“Hi.” He murmurs, voice painfully awkward as he looks up at her through wide amber irises. “As much as I’d love to chat, I am fairly confident that neither of us want it to be on this particular position. Also, I don’t really want to shove you off because that feels rude and abrasive and Sokka says I need to work on my people skills because I’m an awkward turtleduck— I’m doing to stop talking now.”

“Oh fuck.” It’s a simple phrase, but one that seems to catch Zuko off guard. He blinks as she rolls of off him, practically throwing herself into the deep red curtains beside her.

She watches— almost in a daze, as the nation’s ruler pushes himself up, gathering the scrolls that had gone sprawling about the hallway.

His eyes then focus on the capsized wicked basket, coming together as he reaches for it.

“My Lord!” She gasps, rushing to her feet as she hastily snatches the basket and fabrics away, folding them frantically. “I’ll go wash them again, My Lord. I’m so sorry.

“No! That’s um— it’s okay. You don’t have to wash them again. I’m sure they suck to um... wash,” she watches as he takes the inner part of his cheek between his molars, before straightening into a much more severe stance. 

He sounds far more confident when he speaks again, gesturing slightly to the basket. “It’s okay. I’ve slept on far worse than sheets that have hit the floor. Please don’t look so scared.” 

_I don’t look scared_ , she thinks— but then, she catches sight of herself on the mirror across and realises— _yeah, I look mortified shitless._

But then, the implications of his word begin to process and she’s blurting her question before she can think better of it. “Pardon?”

His cheeks twinge pink, eyes looking everywhere but the girl across from him. “Oh. Right. Well, I lived on a ship and I couldn’t even fall asleep on my own bed because it was too soft— I—“

Daisuke must be staring at him with a look plastered to her face that she’s unaware of. Her chest aches for a moment, as she considers that maybe the stories of the burned prince werent complete propaganda.

Up close, the scar does look like it was created by a hand— she swallows a gag at the thought. Zuko’s eyes grow sad, and he turns that side of his face away from her.

“Forgive me.” He offers, eyebrows coming together as he swallows thickly. He folds the last of the blankets, setting it carefully in the basket in her hands. “I often forget not everyone has seen my scar in such close quarters.”

“No!” She croaks, because that’s not at all what she’s thinking— well, and she doesn’t really want one to match. “I was just— theres propaganda at our schools and with Ozai’s downfall... I’m afraid I graduated before you instated the ban on slander of other nations and Fire Nation propaganda.”

“Oh.” He mumbles, as if he understands. She doesn’t miss the way he hides his hands in his sleeves to mask the shaking. “Right. You’re curious about the 41st division, then?”

Her lips part, eyes wide as she realises that he truly does know his people better than Ozai ever could. “My brother— he...”

Zuko looks at her fully, honey eyes dreadfully sad, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“No, he—“ suddenly the tabs of the basket in her hands are far more entertaining than any of the beautifully built walls of the palace, “he was one of— he survived. He hid under—“

She doesn’t realise the words have died in her throat until soft hands are guiding her to sit, back against the wall. The Fire Lord kneels before her, hands hovering carefully, “It’s alright, Daisuke. Just breathe with me.” 

And she does, unable to even consider the fact that the Fire Lord knows her name. As soon as she can breathe, she tells him, “he lived. He hid under the bodies of our friends— he has...” 

The words die in her throat, and Zuko nods as though he understands. Maybe, she thinks, he does. 

“They call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder— I’ve been trying to allocate funds to the mentalhealth services for soldiers of the divisions my father’s parliament hurt.” Something in her breaks when he speaks again, “I have problem with the memories too. All of my friends do— I’m sorry that this happened. I intend to spend the rest of my life righting the wrongdoings of my forefathers.” 

He pauses, eyes searching her face deeply in a way that makes her realise maybe he’s not as socially awkward as he initially came off. 

“There was a rumour.” She speaks it carefully— as if they while building may collapse around them; her eyes unable to meet his. “That the crowned prince refused that the troops to be deployed— and that his own father burned him for it.” 

She knows the answer before he dares to speak it aloud from the nearly imperceptible flinch. If she had blinked, she would’ve missed it. 

He nods, but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he offers her his hands, helping her to her feet. 

The metaphor of helping a citizen of the Fire Nation to their feet does not go remotely unnoticed by the young woman. 

“The crowned prince—” Zuko states slowly, taking a deep breath and expelling it softly. “Is not who I am anymore. He died on that Agni Kai platform almost four years ago— but the parts of him that were good— but my Uncle once told me that the parts of me that an era of peace needs— that those parts were reborn is on the night is Ba Sing Se when I betrayed my Uncle. He said that sparks turned into flame the day I fought Azula. Flame turned into wild fire the day that I took throne.”

A bear of silence passes between them, “Your Uncle is right. The staff— we talk and for a while my friends have been trying to convince me that you’re you. You’re the person I’ve met today— but I was so scared until now. Ozai was never the Phoenix he claimed to be— you are more good than anyone could ever wish to be. You’ve made mistakes. We know that. But you’re not the person I thought you were, and I would like to thank you for that.” 

A small grin graces Zuko’s lips, and suddenly Daisuke understands why Aiko can’t shut up about the Fire Lord all of a sudden. 

The bar for men is on the floor, but he’s nice and attractive and that’s enough for her to internally combust. 

Spirits, she thinks, as he holds the basket out for her to take, Aiko is going to roast me for a month over this. 

**iv.**

* * *

Kai is a whole six years old when Daisuke forces him and his older brother— Kuzon— to come to the palace with her because she wants to show him the gardens. 

Kuzon, ever the sweet big brother, puts a threat on his life to be good. 

“Listen,” Kuzon mutters, straightening the sash of Kai’s robe, “do not, under any circumstances go near the Fire Lord. No one from the royal family is good news— I don’t care what the generals told us.” 

“But Daisuke—“ 

“Is still to young to understand what they’ve done,” Kuzon sighs, dropping his face into his hands. “Please, Kai. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Okay, I promise. No trouble.”

But Kai never used his pinky, and by laws of childhood promises, it is invalid without the pinky.

That leaves him in the present scenario, where he’s managed to finesse his way past the guards with a pout and grin prepared in case they find him snooping— clambering up the ladder they use for the thousands of bagillions (yes, that’s a real number. he checked) books and scrolls that are stacked along the walls.

When he’d walked in, he’d seen Zuko sitting with his face cushioned on robe-clad arms, breathing in and out in the same way his brother does when he’s fallen asleep at night.

Somehow— just barely, Kai manages to take the rad pair of twin swords of the wall-mount and onto his ladder. Four steps, and he’s home free to run around the palace with the Fire Lord’s really hecking cool swords.

The only problem, is that, along with the depth perception of a six year old, comes the motor skills of a non-bending six year old as well.

Zuko’s eyes snap open at the sound of metal clattering against wood, startling completely awake when the first dao drops to the ground with an absolutely earth shattering clatter.

“Oh no,” a small voice squeaks, and Zuko’s eyes drift to where a small shape wobbles on the ladder. “Oh no.”

The second dao clatters to the floor, and Zuko’s racing over— catching the small figure in his hands before he can join the incredibly dangerous pieces of metal on the floor.

“Oh no!” The child let’s put a screech, “Kuzon’s gonna kill me.”

“Are you—“

“Please don’t hurt me!”

Zuko goes dead silent, blinking in surprise as the child covers his face with his hands— tears welling in his eyes before rolling down his cheeks in fat droplets.

“I’m not—“ Zuko falls to his knees, pushing the swords aside as he slowly reaches up to move the child’s hands from his face. “I would never hurt— are you okay? What were you doing with the swords?” 

“You were asleep and my brother said ‘don’t talk to the Fire Lord’ and he never said don’t be in the same room as a sleeping Fire Lord— and I saw the swords and i thought they were cool and i just wanted to play with them— I’m sorry.”

“It’s— uh. It’s okay, kid,” the Fire Lord blinks at him owlishly, and suddenly it occurs to Kai that this dude doesn’t look old enough to be the scary guy that Kuzon warned him about.

So, he blurts that thought aloud, “you don’t _look_ old.”

Zuko barks out a startled laugh, sitting back and crossing his legs up beneath him. Kai definitely doesn’t think this guys is scary enough to be the Fire Lord. Except for the red scar that mars the left half of his face.

“I guess I don’t.” Zuko responds easily, “I’m seventeen. How old are you?”

“Six!” Kai beams proudly, holding up six fingers before tacking on: “My names Kai!”

“I’m Zuko,” the older boy murmurs, eyes flicker to the swords. “Here, let me tell you about the swords— and you can tell me how you managed to sneak into my office.”

“You were sleeping on the job.”

Zuko’s snorts, though his cheeks redden with embarrassment, “you caught me, kid. I was sleeping on the job.”

Kai, looking incredibly proud of himself, gestures to the swords, “okay. Continue.”

Maybe, Zuko ponders, kids aren’t as bad as he thought. 

**v.**

* * *

Kuzon, on the other hand, is about to shit his pants. He’s spent the last half hour sprinting around the palace like a headless cowchicken trying to find his little shit of a little brother who doesn’t listen to anything he has to say. 

“Suki!” He recognizes the singular Kyoshi warrior that Daisuke had introduced him to, “have you seen Kai? He disappeared and I can’t find him.” 

“This tall? Big brown eyes?” The other one questions, gesturing just above her hip, a bright smile on her lips. “He’s in there with Zuko— here, go get him. God knows what kind of trouble he’s getting into. I heard a huge thud earlier—“ 

Kuzon pushes past her— and suddenly, Suki realises Ty Lee’s mistake. The twenty-some year old stumbles into the room, freezing at the door when he sees the Fire Lord sitting criss cross applesauce on the floor across from his little brother. 

The older boy is holding a sword, patiently answering every question that the little shit throws at him with a soft voice that Kuzon didn’t know a Fire Lord could produce. 

Suddenly— the story Daisuke told him about the laundry incident doesn’t seem so unbelievable after all. 

“Kuzon! Zuko isn’t scary at all!” He snaps out of his daze, just in time to catch sight of the blush— blush— that coats the Fire Lord’s cheeks. “He didn’t even try to kill me!” 

Behind him, Suki chokes on a barely suppressed laugh— Ty Lee doesn’t even try to hide her laugh. 

“Aang had a friend named Kuzon,” the Fire Lord says suddenly, eyebrows coming together in the middle of his forehead. “He told me about it after I saved him from Zhao— well, I guess in the end he dragged me back to the forest...”

“I thought the Blue Spirit— oh, Agni. _Zuko_ —“ Ty Lee speaks suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you.” 

“Wait a minute,” Suki blurts, “does Sokka know you’re the Blue Spirit? He had a crush on the Blue Spirit for like— months.” 

Zuko offers her a shy, guilty smile and she just shakes her head, clicking her tongue. She mutters something, but walks out of ear shot before anyone can hear it. 

“Kuzon was my great grandfathers name.” He’s not sure why he offers the information, but he does. “He was friends with the— oh.” 

Zuko’s face does something odd— perhaps an expression that would be considered wistful. 

“Small world, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Kuzon agrees, suddenly feeling bad for his earlier assumptions. “Alright, let’s go. You’ve been enough of a menace for today.”

“Kuzon!” Kai howls, but Zuko only laughs to himself softly. “He was showing me the dual dao swords!”

“But Daisuke got to hang out with Zuko!”

“Daisuke?” Zuko inquires, and it’s like the stars align. “Oh— you’re—“

Suddenly, Kuzon can’t stop thinking about the part of his sisters story where she’d asked about the 41st division. The part where she’d told Zuko about his... issues. 

He opens his mouth to speak— never fully sure of what he’s going to say, but the Fire Lord speaks before he can.

“Are you— are you getting the help you need?” It sounds like he’s struggling to get the words out, “I’m so sorry for what happened.”

“I am—“ Kuzon’s head dips into a bow as he realises the odd stimulus that had come in the mail. “Now. That was your doing wasn’t it? The funding?”

“All I did was sign a form,” Zuko dismisses it, letting the attempted words of gratitude roll off his back. “Is it enough? For you? For all of you? Is there more I can do?”

He pauses for a heart beat— for a few, “It’s not your fault— we all heard of the Agni Kai— I guess we just... didn’t all believe it. We didn’t believe in you.”

“I was thirteen,” Zuko offers with a crooked smile. “There was only a hundred and forty centimetres of me to believe in.”

“And you still spoke for us. You were still burned trying to protect us. You’re one of us— at least the ones that remain.”

“If there’s anything I can do for you— for any of you,” He breathes, “just— you know where to find me. Daisuke does too.”

And despite what he’s said in the past, Kuzon believes him. Despite himself, he must admit, that maybe his sister isn’t the only one who has an inexplicable crush on this guy. 

**Author's Note:**

> zukos dao swords are rad... u know what else is rad? kudos and comments. haha im kidding... unless...


End file.
